


Bed Rest

by Maggiemaye



Series: Under the Mountain [11]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Sickfic, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggiemaye/pseuds/Maggiemaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though he has assured her countless times that the sickness will run its course, she still hovers, vigilant for any change, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of discomfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed Rest

“Tauriel, there is no need for all this. It’s just a passing fever.”

“Yes, well,” she retorts sharply, “that doesn’t mean I can just leave you to your misery. Now stop talking, it’s not good for you to exert yourself.”

Kili huffs as she fusses over his blankets and thrusts a hot mug of some herbal concoction into his hands. There is little point in trying to calm her down, he knows. His wife runs her sickroom with the same military precision that she employs with the guard. And since he is still too weak to get out of bed much, Kili is entirely at her mercy.

“Don’t the children need anything?” he asks hopefully, sniffing at the mug in an attempt to put off drinking the contents.

“They are sleeping. As you should be.” She pokes at the fire in the grate and frowns at him, no trace of humor in her eyes.

“Can’t sleep with you fretting about like this. Just stop a moment, love. Sit with me.”

This speech turns out to be a little more than his weak voice can handle, and he gives a great hacking cough, which he suspects will be far more convincing than anything he might have to say. Sure enough, Tauriel flies across their bedroom to his side. She places her hands over his and guides the mug to his lips as though he is a dwarfling. He glowers at her but takes a few swallows anyway.

“It will help your throat.”

“I know that. I am over a hundred years old, you know.”

She sighs. “I only want you to feel better, Kili. I do not like to see you this way.”

Kili softens instantly. Dwarves rarely fall victim to illness, but elves are never ill at all, so Tauriel cannot help but fear the worst of every sniffle or cough. This particular fever has knocked many of Erebor’s dwarrow on their backs for the past few days, leaving Tauriel to watch in poorly masked panic. He sees, underneath her strictness, how it frightens her to see her family in any way fragile. Even though he has assured her countless times that the sickness will run its course, she still hovers, vigilant for any change, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of discomfort.

Kili reminds himself that he should be grateful. And he has to admit that the cocoon she has made of their bed is really quite comfortable, and the tea does soothe his raw, angry throat, and the gentle touch of her fingers cools his brow very nicely. He hums and lets his eyes drift closed.

“I know, _amralime,”_ he means to say, but sleep wraps him up so quickly that he isn’t sure the words have actually made it past his lips.

When he next opens his eyes, he finds that all four of his limbs have worked their way free of the blankets. His mouth is terribly dry, and Tauriel hands him a cup of water before he can even croak out the request. He swallows gingerly, wincing at the burn in his throat as the liquid goes down.

“How long was I out?” he rasps.

“Perhaps an hour. You were fighting battles in your sleep, I think,” she says, smiling at the disarrayed state of the bed.

“Nah, just adventuring.” He shares a knowing grin with his long-suffering bedmate. His humor is better now that he has napped, so he doesn’t mind so much when she tucks him back in, arranging him beneath the blankets so that every inch of him is covered from the chin down. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Mostly. I checked on the children once.”

“Only once? I admire your restraint, love.”

“Well,” she ducks her head, as sheepish as an elf can be, “the boys may have banished me from their room.”

Kili laughs as hard as his ailing throat will allow; the coughs that follow are well worth it. “Nethelion led that charge, I assume.”

“Oh, you can imagine. ‘I’m nearly forty years old, Amad. I can take care of myself.’ And the others followed his lead, of course.” She shakes her head. “They’ll change their tune. Soon they will need water, or medicine, or they will get too hot or cold—“

“And you will be there.” He shimmies an arm out of the blankets in order to take her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “We’re in your capable hands.”

“They won’t thank me.”

“They will someday.” Kili squeezes her hand. She squeezes back, but he still thinks she seems out of sorts. He works his other arm free, seeing a chance to make her smile.

“But in the meantime…” He lifts the blankets with a wink, shifting over in the bed. “You are a refugee, my dear. I would be a poor prince indeed if I did not offer a bed to an exiled maiden.”

It is a terrible line, spoiled even further by his cracked voice, but Tauriel grins anyway.

“Come on,” he coaxes when she hesitates. “It isn’t as if you’ll catch whatever this is. I’ll even try not to kick you if I fall asleep again.”

“And we both know how successful that will be,” she says dryly, but she does climb under the blankets to lie next to him. He forgoes his pillow in favor of cushioning his head against her breasts. Besides the obvious benefits of this position, he likes that he can feel the rise and fall of her breath, and the strong thump of her heart against his ear.

She places her arms around him and begins to lightly scratch his back. Sick or not, Kili cannot remember the last time he felt more at ease.

“Thank you, Tauriel,” he murmurs, already half-drifting again. For a moment he tries to resist the wave of sleep that crashes down around him, but his eyelids have grown heavy. Burrowing closer, he feels her lips against the crown of his head as he slips away into rest.

Perhaps when he wakes, he will feel well enough to get up for a while. Tauriel will have to give her seal of approval first, of course. As soon as he opens his eyes (if not before), she will be poking and prodding at him, forcing all manner of disgusting brews down his throat.

Or perhaps he might simply convince her to lie with him for just a little longer. Tauriel is a skilled healer—and a force of nature, to be sure—but her close embrace is the only medicine that Kili wants.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm supposed to be working/doing productive things right now. But this little scene just came upon me and I had to get it out. Plus, who doesn't love a sickfic? ;) Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to let me know what you think!


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